The Epics
by nomadic725
Summary: Dean accidently sends a down-on-his-mojo Castiel to London.
1. Castiel : Intro

His trench coat swished about Castiel as he strode down the cobblestone streets of London. He was going to find Dean—he had to. His poor friend was lost and alone on the mean streets of London. Cas knew that mortals can be ridiculously cruel. He ran through the conversation he had with Sam on the phone.

_"Hello?"_

_ "Hello, Sam. May I speak to Dean?"_

_ "Uh—" there was a rather long pause. After what seemed like an eternity, Sam returned. "He's, uh, not here. Sorry, Cas."_

_ "Oh. Do you know where I can come in contact with him?"_

_ "He uh—" there was another dragged out pause. "He's, uh, in _London. _He's in London and forgot his phone. He'll be back in a few days."_

_ "Oh."_

_ Cas hung up. _

Now he roamed the English streets, looking for the absent Dean.


	2. Dean : Intro

The phone rang.

"I'll let you get it, Sammy," Dean informed his brother while lounging in one of Bobby's chairs.

Sam sighed in defeat and plucked the phone from its cradle. "Hello?"

There was a quiet, low voice on the other end that Dean couldn't make out.

"Uh," Sam mouthed 'Cas' silently to Dean.

Oh, crap. What did he want now? That angel had already called him thrice this week with nothing of particular importance. Dean liked Cas, but he could get annoying.

Deciding immediately what he had to do, Dean began slicing the air with his hands, whispering the word 'no' and shaking his head. Sam understood.

"He's, uh, not here. Sorry, Cas."

There was some more voice from Cas's end.

"He wants to know where he can contact you," Sam whispered to Dean, covering the speaker on the phone.

"Tell him I'm in, uh, _London!_ Yeah! Tell him I don't have my phone!"

Sam repeated this into the phone. There was a short reply, and then Sam dropped the phone back onto the cradle.

"Ya know, It's a good thing he trusts us. Not many people can do that to an angel," Sam commented.

"Yup."


	3. Book One : Castiel : The Fifth Man

It had been hours—too many hours—of searching for his beloved friend. Dean could be hurt…or in trouble…or getting mauled to death by a cat for all Castiel knew. (**You may not get the cat reference unless you've read Bandwagon**) Cas bit his lip. The sun had set on London and the navy sky bled like ink. No stars were visible.  
>How depressing.<p>

Four men were laughing and prancing around drunkenly about twenty yards ahead of him. Nope. Dean wasn't one of them.

Sighing heavily, he passed them without a second thought.

"Oi! You!"

Lost in his thoughts about Dean, Cas had no idea who they were talking to.

"Oi! Trench coat!" another gang member screeched.

Huh. Someone has a trench coat, Cas thought absently. Finally. Someone has good taste in coats.

Castiel suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder. Said hand swung him around in a way that the angel faced the drunk that owned this particular hand.

"We was talk—ing to you!" The man was average height, which meant he had a few inches on Cas, had blue eyes and shaggy blonde hair.

"Uh, _sir,_" Cas began, trying to be reasonable. "Your hand is on my trench coat."

"Don't think noth—ing of it, guv! We's all mates!"

"I fail to understand what a 'guv' is," Castiel informed the drunkard.

"So do I, guv. So do I."

"Oi! Leave the poor American sonovabitch alone, would you?" A fifth man came out of nowhere. He had auburn hair and bright green eyes. However, Castiel noticed something else. Something more important.

"You are not drunk," Cas observed.

"I don't drink," the fifth man flashed a smile. He strolled up calmly and removed his friend's hand from Castiel's trench coat. "It dulls the senses."

This fifth man looked as though he knew the streets pretty well. Maybe…just maybe…

"I am looking for my friend," Castiel told the fifth man. "Maybe you have seen him? His name is Dean. Dean Winchester. He is tall. And he is American."

"Haven't seen a man like that, but then again, I haven't looked. Are you concerned about him?" The fifth man asked. He had sort of a charm that was hard to place. Castiel now realized that they had been walking, leaving the drunks yards away.

"Yes. Dean…well Dean gets into trouble a lot."

"Ah, I see. A bit too much of the booze, is it? Or drugs?"

"No. Dean hunts demons, poltergeists, and other creatures of that nature."

The fifth man's smile fell than widened. "I see. What's your name?"

"Castiel. I am an angel of the Lord."

"Oh. I'm Copper. I'm a con artist."

The two men walked a bit further.

"One of them religious types, are you? Alright. Now I don't know why, Cas, but I like you. You're one of those lads that just have the right kind of electricity, do you understand me?"

"Uh…"

"There's a good lad. You have a flop?"

"Uh…a _flop?"_

"You know. A place to sleep?"

"I don't sleep."

Copper chuckled. "This lad's a jester!" He yelled back to the drunks. The drunks laughed in unison. Turning back to Castiel, Copper slung an arm around him like an old friend. "Well, come along, then, mate. We've got a big day ahead of us tomorrow, and we need our beauty rest!"

"Uh…we do?"

"Yup! Very big, mate! Very big, indeed!"


	4. Book One : Dean : Tied Up

Dean, who was pretty dang far from London at the time, sailed along in his Impala. It was late at night. Sam and Bobby were back at the house, asleep. Dean cranked up the radio as Whitesnake's "Here I Go Again" blasted through the speakers. The countryside drifted past him.

And then it stopped. Everything stopped. Sight, hearing, every sense was blacked out. I would love to write that there was some romantic battle between good and evil, but nope. Sorry. Nodda. Just nothingness.

Dean had no idea how much time had passed—his sense of time blacked out, too—but he knew that somehow, he was now tied up in one of those spinney office chairs with some cable.

He blinked furiously to clear his cloudy eyes. Everything around him slowly came into focus.

He kinda wished, looking back, that it didn't.

"Hello, Dean," his captor purred.

Dean squeezed his eyes shut, then reopened them, hoping it was a dream.

Nope.

There he stood, in the flesh. There stood Balthazar.

"You know, Cas is worried _sick_ about you?" Balthazar demanded.

"Huh?"

"He's probably wandering around the streets of London like a fool as we speak."

It took Dean a moment to realize what he was saying.

"You mean Cas actually went looking for me in London?"

Balthazar nodded. "Well, yes. Basically."

"That sonovabitch."

"Anyway, I shall just keep you safe here until—"

"Hey, why couldn't he just poof over to me?"

"Cas—and every angel against Raphael for that matter, including me—took a major power hit the other day. We're not up to our full potential. Do you know how much power it takes to locate someone?"

"Uh, no. Not really."

"A lot, my human mate, a lot."

Dean struggled with his bonds. "So can you still, you know, poof?"

"No. Our poofing abilities are temporarily out of order. Cas took a plane to go find you. He _really_ must like you, you know. Castiel has little reliance on manmade flying machines."

"Him and me, both."

"He promised that if he didn't find you in three days, he'd come back. I've been trying to reach his cell phone, but I don't have his number…"

"I do. I just don't know where it is. I'll find it in the morning," Dean promised. "And would ya untie me?"


	5. Book Two : Castiel : The Con

**Hey. This is in bold. This means that this is the author explaining something to you all. I kinda stopped writing this story because, more or less, I believed it was crap. I wrote two other stories before this and they both had a better vibe to them. This story just wasn't **_**good.**_** I was about to delete this story until I checked my email, which is something that happens about once a month. Several people subscribed to it.**

** "People actually liked this crap?" I says to myself. "Bandwagon and Hajj were way better than this thing."**

** And so, I am going to finish this piece of crud for those who subscribed to it. Those who subscribed to it : you kinda just saved this story's life. The story is grateful. Me, not so much. **

**And one more thing. I have never lived in, gone to school in, donated a kidney in, or lived with someone from England. I went there for one week when I was seven. I don't know how they talk, but I'm trying my best.**

**Now that I've taken up a ton of your time by putting this little huge author's note in, I'll get back to the Epics Book 3 : Castiel.**

Copper lived in a small apartment complex in Whitechapel called Roland House. It looked like, at least to Castiel, one of the motels Sam and Dean always stay in.

Castiel, being, well, his Castielish self, went with Copper easily and without fear.

"You know, mate, Jack the Ripper was supposed to strike around here," Copper sashayed down the corridor. He whipped out his keys. Copper continued to talk while fumbling in the dark for the correct one. "The local cobblers find it smashing to think up rumors about the victim's ghosts."

The door, which was dark mahogany, swung open. Castiel and Copper slipped inside. Copper groped in the dark for the lights. They flicked on, and suddenly the room was flooded with sight.

The apartment was comfortable, but let's just say any given home magazine wouldn't be dying to come feature it. It consisted of a small living room that connected to a kitchen, a bedroom, and a full bathroom.

There was a bright green couch that clashed with the yellowing wallpaper; a worn, red chair stood in the corner, facing the window. There was a small television, but it looked like it had a good, thick layer of dust covering it. Copper evidentially didn't find television particularly enjoyable.

That night, Castiel, who claims he doesn't sleep, slept on the couch.

Copper ripped open the curtains, letting the morning light pour in onto Castiel. Cas jumped awake, ungrateful for the new brightness, and accidentally flung his phone.

Now the reason why he was sleeping with his phone was he thought Dean might find a payphone and call.

"All right, Cas? Prepared for that big day I mentioned?" Copper smiled brightly in his charming way. He tossed a ball of something on Castiel.

Castiel blinked and looked down. Clothes. Copper had thrown clothes at him. Over the past few weeks, Castiel had had knives, fists, and angel killing sword thingies thrown at him. Something soft was nice once in a while.

Cas stood up and strolled over to his now broken phone. Oh well. It was a longshot anyway.

"Did you sleep in that thing?" Copper inquired.

"What are you—"

"The trench coat!"

Castiel glared downward. "I do not really take it off…"

Copper shook his head. "Get in those clothes. I'm going to wash that thing."

"Will this help me find Dean?"

"What? Oh. Oh, sure, mate. It might. Come on now, that thing's a health hazard."

And so, for the first time in history…

…the trench coat came off.

(This is where I would have dramatic music playing, but FanFiction doesn't allow soundtracks.)

Castiel and Copper ended up with matching crisp white shirts, black vests, black pants, black shoes, and a black hat. They completed their little getup with a black jacket.

"The jacket makes all the difference," Copper winked. "Off to work with us, shall we?"

In Castiel's entire career on earth, he had witnessed a grand total of one job. One line of work. That would be the Winchester's ghost and ghoul express hunting. Because of this, he was pretty dang clueless when Copper explained his plan to Cas as they strolled down the street.

"We are to meet Madame Baseare at Hawksmoor in precisely ten minutes. The Madame is a widow of a man who was in the oil business—a very rich sort. Won't miss the money at all," Copper sucked in some more air to go on, but was interrupted.

"The money?" Cas asked.

"Didn't you listen to me when I told you I was a con artist? Anyway, back to the prompt at hand, she has this antique, leather bound journal. But this is not just any journal. Of course you have heard of Magellan, Mr. Cas."

"No."

"What planet were you born on, mate?"

"I wasn't born on a planet."

"Smashing, Cas. Anyway, Magellan was an explorer that was credited to be the first to circumnavigate the world. That's big, my American mate, very big. And this Madame has his journal.

"She is willing to sell it to us for 1.5 million. I have a buyer lined up in Russia that will pay 2.7. That's a pretty profit right there, eh, Cas? Now the catch is, this woman will only sell it to someone who is interested in using it for the education of children. We need to convince her that that is what we want it for, eh, Cas? Besides, men always look better in pairs. That's why you are here, mate. Appearance is everything."

Castiel said nothing. They reached the restaurant. Inside, they found an older woman with rich brown hair that couldn't be anything but dyed. She had dressed herself in the latest French fashion.

"Madame Baseare," Copper tipped his hat politely, gesturing for Cas to do it too. Cas caught on an eternity later. The two men sat down across from the Madame.

She had a profound French accent, "who is this one? He was not with you the last time we met, Mr. Copper," the Madame set her eyes on Castiel.

"My name is Castiel. I am an angel of the Lord," Cas told her.

The women smiled pleasantly, "aren't we all? What a nice, religious young man."

All through the rest of the talk, the Madame snuck looks at the angel across from her.

"So my journal will be used in the education… where it was you say?"

"We plan to move it around, Madame. We plan to not keep it in one specific place so that all children from here to, well, Russia can enjoy it," Copper smiled his most charming smile. This particular smile was almost hypnotic, being as Copper is a generally charming person. However, it wasn't Copper that the woman seemed interested in.

Finally tearing her eyes away from Castiel, she moved to dig around in her purse and pulled out a small leather book that almost exactly matched Copper's chestnut colored hair. It was in a protective plastic zip lock bag.

Now, you may expect Copper to whip out a case of money, cash all stacked in neat little piles.

Nope. Apparently con men went modern.

He elegantly took out a check and handed it to the women. As the women grabbed it, he kissed her hand lightly. "A pleasure to make this negotiation."

The two men moved to leave, but the Madame stopped them with a, "wait!"

She hurriedly scribbled something down on her napkin and handed it to Castiel.

"Thank you," Cas replied smoothly. That was the proper response to when someone gives you something, correct?

As they exited the building, Cas unfolded the napkin.

_Annette Baseare_

_ 33-442-867-5309_

"You were _smashing,_ mate!" Copper slung an arm around Cas. "She bleeding loved you! I could have convinced her into selling that journal to the local soup kitchen for a fire starter and she wouldn't have noticed! Quite the ladies man, are you?"

"Not really," Castiel remembered with a shudder of his and Dean's little adventure. He just wanted to tell that girl that it wasn't her fault her dad left…he just hated his job as a mailman…

"You, my mate, are my new partner. Now usually I do more tricks, more cons, than just convincing some lady to sell me her book. If I did this all the time, I'd just be a smuggler. But we shall try your hand at that soon, also, Cas!"

Cas made a face.

"All right, Cas?" Copper inquired.

"I was just wondering…when do I get my trench coat back?"


	6. Book Two : Dean : Turbulence

"Found it!" Dean called.

"Well it is about time you found his number. I was beginning to worry that you were to incompetent to scroll through your phone," Balthazar shot at him.

"Shut. The. Cake. Hole," Dean muttered and began calling Cas.

About thirty seconds of pure silence passed.

"No answer," Dean murmured and called again. "Nothing."

"Well bloody great! Cas could have gotten himself killed for all we know!"

"This is _Cas _we're talking about! I think he who leads angel armies can take care of himself," Dean snapped. However, the thought _did_ cross his mind. Who knows what kind of trouble Castiel could have gotten in? And if he gets hurt, it would be Dean's fault for sending him to London in the first place…

"What's his number? Maybe you're phone's cocking up."

"Though I'm not entirely sure what 'cocking up' means, my phone is working fine," Dean growled.

"The number?"

Dean sighed and gave it to him. His concern for his friend outweighed his pride for the moment.

Balthazar kept trying for about five minutes straight. Cas wouldn't answer.

"Maybe he ran out of minutes?" Dean suggested.

"Well, it's obvious that he doesn't have it, isn't it?" Balthazar began pacing. He could just as well have 'WORRIED PARINOID ANGEL FRIEND' stamped across his forehead. "What if Raphael got a hold of him?"

Dean's phone came to life with "Smoke on the Water."

"Told you it works," Dean muttered and took the call.

_"Dean! Where are you? Bobby and I woke up and you were gone!" Sam demanded._

"I'm, uh, I honestly don't know."

_There was a pause. "Well. That sounds just peachy, Dean."_

"I'm with Balthazar."

_"Does that qualify as good?"_

"Well…"

"_Dude, find out where the hell you are and we'll come get you."_

Dean looked over at the pacing Balthazar. He remembered why they were both here in the first place.

"It doesn't matter where we are," Dean told Sam calmly.

_"What are you talking about, Dean?"_

"I'll be in England on a search and rescue if you need me," Dean snapped the phone shut before Sam could respond. He turned it off so he couldn't call back.

Balthazar's head spun around when he heard the bit about going to England.

"Aren't you deathly afraid of airplanes?" he demanded.

"Isn't Cas? He did it for me. Now come on, before this gets all chick flicky and before Sam finds us and stops us."

Balthazar touched Dean on the forehead and an airport entered his sight.

"You said you're poofing abilities were gone!" Dean complained.

"Long distance poofing is disabled. We were only about five minutes from this airport so I can manage that. I'm not completely a cripple."

Balthazar bought the tickets. He is far more street savvy than any angel Dean has ever met. They boarded their plane without luggage. Dean sighed. He guessed he would just buy anything he needed when he got there.

The liftoff has always been the hardest part for Dean—well, that and the touchdown.

"Is… this… a normal… angle?" Dean asked through clenched teeth to Balthazar. Balthazar sat across the aisle from him next to a wise-looking Japanese man. Dean was sitting next to a little kid.

Balthazar responded with a glare. You have to understand that this has to be the twenty second nervous airplane question Dean had asked him. The stupidest of which being, "people don't actually make planes that you ride in out of paper, right?"

After the plane had steadied itself, Balthazar noticed Dean clawing the plane chair.

"Dean," Balthazar shook his head then turned to his neighbor. "Sir? You're not afraid of flying, are you?"

The man slowly looked up from his book, turned his head, and just glared at him.

"See? That man's not afraid of flying," Balthazar told Dean cheerily.

Dean groaned in response.

Every so often, Dean would feel like something was tugging on his hair. He would examine the seat but find nothing to catch his hair on. It wasn't like he had a mop like Sam, either.

After a terrifying nine hours of air riding came the final test of courage—the touchdown.

"Normal angle…right?" Dean laughed shakily and looked over at Balthazar who was dozing lightly.

Hmm. So much for the angel not sleeping thing.

The plane landed without incident, but still with enough 'slight turbulence' to cause Dean to proclaim, "I'd hate to see what serious turbulence is! There is no way that is normal!"

As they stepped off the plane and into the airport tunnel, Dean turned on his phone and began chuckling slightly to himself.

"Dean?" Balthazar was obviously concerned that his partner had gone mad.

"I just did it—survived all nine hours," Dean broke out into a Cheshire cat grin. "I frickn' rock!"

Balthazar was about to say, 'it was only eight hours and thirty minutes,' but he didn't have the heart. "Of course you do, Dean," Balthazar stepped ahead of him, leaving Dean smiling like an idiot.

"Smoke on the Water" pounded itself out of his phone.

"Hello?"

"_Dude, you are dead. I am going to kill you. I'm going to mow you down with the Impala. Do you _know_ how hackn' worried we've been about you?" Sam yelled into the phone._

"I think I just got an idea."

"_Jerk."_

"Bitch," a smirk crossed Dean's face. "Hey, I'll call you later."

And with that, Dean hung up on his brother for the second time that day.


	7. Book Three : Castiel : Notepad

**Oh wow, this is a train wreck of a sorry…heh heh *nervous laughter*… ah well, let's get this over with…review and help me write this thing, would ya guys?**

Rain whispered over London. It wasn't one of those hard, displeasing downpours. It was a light shower that revived the city.

Down the cobblestones clinked two strangely familiar, and almost masculine, nuns.

"Are you sure this is legal, Copper?" The shorter of the two asked the other one.

"Of course not, Cas," the other replied. "Otherwise we wouldn't have to dress up like nuns."

The two nuns entered Elemental Antiques. Copper gestured toward the gruff looking man behind the counter.

"That's him. You understand the plan, mate?"

"Sidetrack him while you search him for something," Castiel repeated.

"Go get 'em, mate."

Castiel strode up to the cashier, swinging his hips. He batted his eyes in the way Copper taught him a few moments before.

The cashier straightened. "What can I do for you, Mother?"

Copper appeared from behind the cashier and started plucking at his pockets like a pro.

"My name is Cassidy," Castiel told him in a voice a few octaves higher than his natural one. "I am an angel of the Lord."

Copper reached for cashier's back jeans pocket, but the man shifted. Copper reeled back in surprise, careful not to make a noise.

At this the old man smiled. "That you are, m'lady."

The cashier looked over Cas admiringly. A bit _too_ admiringly. Then he took a peck at the air, arching his eyebrows

Castiel, even being his clueless self, understood that this man was not acting in a normal way.

"Sir, are you…alright?" Cas asked.

Copper took a daring reach for the old man's front jean's pocket.

"Cassidy, I've been alright since you entered that ol' door over there."

Cas frowned and shifted his weight.

Suddenly, Copper brushed up beside him. "I've got it. Let's go," he whispered into his fellow nun's ear.

"Leaving so soon? Here," the man scribbled down something on a sheet of paper and handed it to the angel.

And so, Castiel got his second phone number of the day.

"He bleeding loved you too! And completely trusted you," Copper commented once they had left. "Mate, where have you been all my life?"

"Did you get what you wanted?" Castiel asked.

With a smirk and a flourish, Copper whipped out a small, yellow notepad.

Castiel wondered what he wanted that for. He saw a ton in any given store.

"What is important about it? Was it a famous explorer's?" Cas inquired.

"I can trust you, Cas?"

Castiel nodded.

"Let's us just say that I ran into some trouble a while back. Made some enemies of people that you don't want as enemies."

Cas waited patiently for the rest.

Copper sighed, then continued. He was obviously hoping Cas wouldn't care to know.

"Made a deal with their leader. There was this tablet that I bought—I honestly had no clue that it was a fake. Now, perhaps this would have been forgiven with a slap on the hand, but as it turns out, I conned his daughter out of a few million, also."

Cas had no idea of the connection to the notepad. The confusion must have shone through.

"Now it seems that they would like nothing more than to see me dead. I just learned that they are in London. Unfortunately for them, lucky for me, I am hard to kill. However, one can't rely on luck alone, understand. I have to take precautions. That man that was flirting with you in there—he's a member of their guild. And he has the phone numbers of all of the guild members on this little notepad," Copper said slyly. "And you just got his."

"So you are going to call them?" Cas asked absently.

"Ah, mate," Copper shook his head in discouragement. "I am going to bug their phones so I know their plans."

Understanding flickered in Castiel's eyes for a second then went back to confusion.

Over the next few days, there were a lot of "he [or she] bleeding loved you!"'s and "mate! I am so glad I found you on that street that night!"'s. But, above all else, there were a lot of cons.


	8. Book Three : Dean : Sweet as Pie

As they passed through security, Dean couldn't help but notice that he was getting a lot of strange looks.

Dean rubbed his hand through his hair and felt something squishy. He looked and his hand.

Purple play-dough.

Crap.

He stopped at a restroom and hightailed it to the closest mirror.

There had to be a gallon of play-dough in his hair.

That little kid next to him! That explains what was tugging on his hair.

Dean and Balthazar booked a hotel room. Dean took a shower, then the Dynamic Duo booked it to the nearest police station. Dean let Balthazar do the talking because he had the British thing down.

"He's American. He's about, uh, 5' 4". He has really dark hair—it's almost black—and its shaggy. But also spikey. Actually, I'm not sure what it is. It's like some new breed of hair. And he has blue eyes and pale skin. He's wearing a trench coat, I know that for a fact considering he never takes the bloody thing off. No glasses," Balthazar told the bobby when asked for a description of Castiel.

"What's his last name?" the bobby asked.

"He doesn't have one."

"He has to have one."

"Bono doesn't have one. The Edge doesn't have one."

"Fair enough."

After filing their report, Dean dragged Balthazar down the street in search of pie. He wanted to know what British pie tasted like. And he was stressing out right now—he needed some pie. Pie makes problems evaporate. He couldn't help it. He's a comfort eater.

The two eventually settled on a pub type place called Hawksmoor. Dean ordered cranberry pie. He felt a great weight lift from his shoulders as the pie was shoveled into his mouth.

"Well, Copper, word on the street is that you have a partner," the bar tender told a chestnut haired young man a few seats down from Dean.

"Yeah. Some American bloke named Castiel," Copper told him.

Dean's head snapped up along with Balthazar's. They turned toward the man called 'Copper.'

"Castiel?" Dean demanded.

Copper gave a distrusting glare, got up, and left the restaurant.

Dean speed after him, Balthazar on his heels.

"Hey!" Dean called after Copper. Copper walked faster.

Dean and Balthazar broke into a flat out run. Copper did the same, only Copper was nimble and quick and eluded them easily. They had lost their only lead within seconds.

"Damn," Dean muttered.

"Well, now we have a clue," Balthazar said, giving being an optimist a shot. "We find Copper, we find Cas. And it seems as though everyone around here knows Copper."


	9. Book Four : Castiel : Reunion

"Why are we here, Copper?"

"Why wouldn't we be here, mate? Look at all that _mouthwatering, luscious, delicious _food!"

Copper was pointing a shaking finger at a table covered in a fancy white tablecloth and that was piled about four feet high with every food imaginable. His mouth was slightly watering.

Sometimes, Copper reminded Cas of Dean.

Copper and Castiel were attending the Twenty-Sixth Annual Trade Winds Social. Trade Winds is a company that is involved in the preservation of foreign antiques. Copper sold a few of his items that he had acquired to them a while back, so he had a few connections to get them into the party.

Copper began walking toward the mountain of food like a zombie, arms outstretched. He had eyes for nothing but that which the table held.

Cas looked down at his borrowed tuxedo. He missed his trench coat. Surrounding him were ladies in elaborate dresses, men who looked like Sam and Dean when they dressed like FBI agents, and butlers that carried around liquor in fancy little flutes.

He also missed Dean. Castiel had _really_ started to like Copper, but still, it wasn't Copper that he had raised from Hell. It was Dean. And Dean was still lost.

Over the past couple of days, Cas's powers had slowly been coming back to him. However, he still didn't have enough mojo to locate his friend.

Sighing, he left Copper with the food and went to sit outside in the courtyard.

Suddenly, he heard something shift in the bushes.

It was the man that seemed to fancy 'Cassidy' so much, slithering into the back door.

Should he tell Copper? Cas didn't exactly understand all that Copper told him about his enemies, but he did know a thing or two about enemies. And he knew that you should be aware if they are sneaking into the social that you are attending.

So, Cas ran for Copper.

"That man that gave me his phone number when we were nuns is here."

"What?" Copper demanded with a mouthful of food. His cheeks were bulging like a chipmunk's.

"I just saw him. He decided to come in through those bushes over there for some reason," Cas said innocently.

Copper exhaled. "Sonovabitch. Come on, my clueless mate. It's time to take our leave."

A voice growled from behind them, "COPPER!"

"Shit!" Copper broke into a run, only to be blocked off by people. Castiel watched him with interest.

Copper rounded the food table, the antagonist on the other side. Whenever the antagonist would go right, Copper would dart left, and so on and so forth like children playing tag.

The antagonist, getting frustrated, hopped over the table. Now this is not a little pipsqueak of a man that we're talking about. This is a guy that weighs about three hundred.

The table kinda broke and capsized at the same time under the newfound weight.

Copper darted away like a mouse. By now, every guest was watching the scene that was unraveling before them with intensity. Copper made a beeline for the door and made it out, mowing people down in the process.

Once outside, Copper felt himself smack right into a human.

That human just happened to be Dean.

Copper was on top of Dean, spread eagled and fighting to get up.

"That's the guy!" Dean yelled to Balthazar, who was beside him. "He knows where Cas is!"

Balthazar tackled Copper. Between Dean and Balthazar, they had Copper pinned onto the sidewalk.

"Sonovabitch! You don't understand! Let go! I have to get out of here!" Copper protested. He wormed and wiggled but was held secure to the ground by the two men.

"Thank you, gentlemen. You caught just the man that I was looking for," a grisly voice sounded from behind Dean and Balthazar. They whirled around to see a three hundred pound man covered in potato salad, cranberry juice, chocolate cake, and just about every other food imaginable.

"We call him first!" Dean informed him.

"I saw him first!"

"But we pinned him down first!"

"And I got conned first!"

"And he stole our friend first!"

"Dean?" a smooth, familiar voice floated to Dean's ears. "Is that…you? What are you doing on top of my friend?"

"Cas!" Dean found himself embracing his angel. He didn't really remember the span of time between getting off Copper and hugging Castiel, but that didn't matter. Cas was safe. He stepped back, smirking.

Suddenly, Dean frowned. "Where the hell is your trench coat?"

Copper, still crushed under Balthazar, held up a finger. "It was a health hazard."

Castiel turned toward the antagonist. "I think you should leave. Now."  
>As if enchanted, the man began strolling away from the little posse.<p>

Balthazar, seeing no reason to continue to sit on Copper, stood up. Copper brushed himself off and stood up as well.

"Thanks, mate," he said to Cas. "Here. It's obvious that you fellows know each other. We'll all go back to my apartment and have a little reunion, shall we?"

* * *

><p><strong>Reviews are very much appreciated! *hint* *cough*<strong>


	10. Book Five : United : Mojo

"I take it goes without saying that one of you fellows are 'Dean'," Copper began the conversation once they had arrived in his apartment.

"I am," Dean said.

"You fight ghosts?"

Dean straightened up.

Copper broke out into a grin. "The angel of the Lord here told me."

Dean wasn't sure if Copper believed the ghost hunter thing or not.

"Anyway, I'm Copper. I'm a con artist."

"And you've been using Cas!" Dean almost yelled. "You frickn' corrupted my angel!"

Copper smirked then looked to Balthazar. "And who are you?"

"He is my second in command. Balthazar," Cas answered for him. "We lead an elite army of angels against Raphael."

"Right."

Copper forgotten, Castiel turned to Dean. "Dean! Are you alright? How long have you been lost in London?" Castiel's eyes were so innocent. Dean thought his heart would brake if he told him he just got here.

"A few days," Dean lied smoothly. "But Balthazar found me."

Balthazar shot him an angry look, but, seeing Cas smiling, didn't correct Dean.

"You are a good friend, Balthazar," Castiel told the angel.

"Humph."

"So ready to go back to America, Cas?" Dean asked. He had had enough of England for a few lifetimes.

"Well, I was going to help Copper with his plan…" Cas told his rescuers.

"Cas! He's just using you!"

"Not true," Copper piped in.

"I am his mate," Cas explained.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Come on, Cas."

Dean towed his angel, along with his angel's angel, out Copper's door, down the stairs, and out the apartment complex's entrance.

Suddenly, they heard a gruff voice.

"That's Copper's three accomplices!"

Heavy footfalls trooped after them. The trio instantly recognized the antagonist from the party charging them down, along with what seemed like a small army behind him.

"Oh. That is what a guild looks like," Cas stated.

"BACK IN THE BUILDING!" Dean ordered. The human and two angels raced back inside, up the steps, plowed into Copper who happened to be standing in his doorway, and threw the bolt.

They heard the guild's feet stomp up the steps after them. They pounded on the door.

"We're trapped!" Balthazar exclaimed.

Copper and Dean threw him a sideways glance.

"Obviously."

"Evidently."

"Call the police," Dean commanded.

"They cut the phone wires," Copper told him. "As soon as I heard you scream 'BACK IN THE BUILDING!" Copper impersonated Dean dramatically, "I picked up the phone. Dead."

Dean tried it for good measure. The British dude was right.

"Do you have a cell phone?"

"I accidentally dropped it into a bowl of stew a week back. Long story, mate."

"Cas," Dean began.

Cas cut him off by pointing his finger at the smashed cell phone that neither he or Copper bothered to pick up.

"Crap. Crap. Crap."

"That just about sums it up, mate."

"Why are they after you?" Dean asked, somewhat curious.

By now, the guild was shaking the door, which looked dangerously close to caving in. Copper just relayed everything he told to Cas.

"Maybe," Cas spoke up. "If we combined our powers we could maybe manage enough to transport out?"

It was a novel idea, considering that they had been getting their mojo back slowly over the past few days.

"Alright, brother."

Copper watched them with some interest as the two angels took each other's hands, bowed their heads together, and concentrated.

Suddenly, Copper found himself in his apartment, alone.

"Sonovabitch."

_**FIN**_

**This story was in honor of my favorite movie—The Brother's Bloom. Yay for con men!**

**P.S.-if you want to see the Trickster back on the show, sign the petition at .!**


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